


The Theologian's Tale

by Ygern



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, quite a lot of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 05:30:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ygern/pseuds/Ygern
Summary: What if James had decided his life was in Academia and never entered the seminary, nor the police force?This is that story.





	1. 2003

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quente](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quente/gifts).



> This is for Quente who patiently read through this and offered thoughtful criticism and suggestions. It is certainly a better story as a result.

Lewis regretted coming in here almost as soon as he arrived. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing this, out on the pull as if he were someone half his age with none of his cares. But he was tired of the loneliness. It’d been a year since Val, and the wounds that awful day carved into his heart still hurt as if they were real physical scars to his body, as if the car had hit him too. Sometimes he wished it had. He spent too many nights with the brandy bottle nowadays. It was hurting his job and hurting his liver, and he wished he could find it in himself to care. He’d seen the worried looks from his friend, Laura Hobson; and the shrewd, assessing glances from Chief Superintendent Strange when he dragged his carcass into work just minutes shy of being late some mornings. He’d been floundering and he knew it. He cared, just not enough to stop.

He’d wondered some nights if he was slowly becoming Morse. Whether this was how Morse felt when he knew that he’d damaged himself beyond repair and couldn’t bring himself to care enough to follow his doctor’s instructions. What use was there in fighting for a few more days of misery? He’d give up on it all himself if it weren’t for Lyn and Mark. It’s not as if they needed him any more, both of them were long gone now, grown and flown as they say. But there was just enough of him left inside that he couldn’t bear the idea of Lyn having to identify the body of her dad, knowing he drank himself to death. He couldn’t do that to her. 

So tonight he was trying to stay away from the bottle of brandy, two, in fact, that were sitting in the cupboard of his kitchen. He was in a slightly disreputable pub, disreputable not because of the shabby decor, but because it had the reputation of being a place where men could pick up men. It was anonymous and safe. Mostly.

He was still not sure why he’d chosen here of all places. He’d always known he was bisexual, but it was something that he’d almost forgotten about in the twenty years of marriage and children. Tonight he wanted to feel another body against his own, some warmth and heat, even for just a few hours. Then he realised, he couldn’t bear for it to be another woman. He wasn’t over losing Val. He might never be. A man would not remind him of her and all he’d lost. So here he was.

He caught the bartender’s attention and ordered himself a double whiskey and a beer to chase it. After some minutes of checking out the room he began to feel even more out of place. It wasn’t that he looked any different from the rest of the clientele, they were all ages, all sizes, all walks of life. It was the deliberate intent of most of the people around him that made him uncomfortable. It was unrealistic for him to expect anything else in a place like this, but he was unnerved by the callous, single-mindedness of the men around him, the clinical assessment of each other’s physical appeal. He eyed the overflowing ashtrays that the barman seemed to have given up on emptying around him and half-wished he still smoked. Val had made him quit when Lyn was born, and he didn’t really miss them any more, except in places like this where he was looking for something to keep his hands occupied.

He was about to leave when a young man seated himself next to Robbie and gave him a shy smile.

“I’m James,” he said.

He was tall and almost angelic-looking in contrast to the gloom around them, and his white-blonde hair was shorn close to his skull.

“Robbie,” said Lewis. Then he remembered his manners. “Can I buy you a drink?” James couldn’t have been much more than a boy, no more than his early twenties perhaps. What on earth did he want with a middle-aged drunk?

But the lad smiled and said, “Gin and tonic, please”.

Lewis motioned for the bartender again, and ordered another double whiskey and a gin and tonic.

“Come here often?” he said, and then cringed. “Sorry, that has to be the stupidest line that’s ever come out of my mouth.”

James chuckled softly, and it was a revelation when laughter opened up his face and showed Lewis a glimpse of something of the man behind the serious grey eyes.

They made small-talk about the weather this summer, James said he was born here but lived in Cambridge these days. He was back for the summer. Lewis said he was from up North but had been in Oxford for so many years that he didn’t think of any other place as home any more. Robbie was wracking his brain for something else to say when James interrupted and said, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Robbie almost jumped at the naked intent of the question, but he nodded, swallowing the dregs of his whiskey to try and tamp his nerves down.

Outside the evening had turned golden and the tree tops were swaying gently in the breeze. The whispering of the leaves lulled him and he tried to surreptitiously examine James as they walked along the lane. He couldn’t believe that the boy seemed to want him. On good days, Robbie reckoned he was okay, nice-enough looking in a solid, dependable sort of a way. But he was fifty now, and the drinking in recent months made him feel every year of that. But James seemed to like him, he kept shooting little glances at Robbie and smiling little admiring smiles at him. It was endearing, and boosted Lewis’s self-esteem no end.

“This is me,” said James, gesturing to a narrow front door. He unlocked the door and they entered. Lewis felt unease as the door shut behind him and the full reality of what he was doing sluiced over him like ice-water. James just smiled at him again and then with a slight little hesitation, he slipped forward and took Robbie’s face in his hands. 

Then James kissed him, carefully at first and then with more heat as Robbie responded, opening his mouth and inhaling the scent and taste of James, a hint of tobacco and the slight bitter-sweetness of the tonic water he’d had earlier. It was devastatingly heady. He lost himself in exchanging kisses with James, exploring his mouth and his tongue, and felt both of them harden against each other, their breaths heavy and fast. James pulled him down the passageway to his bedroom, and then he stopped and said, “Would you like a drink? Sorry, I forgot. I’ve never -” and then he shut his mouth, embarrassed by what he was about to say.

Robbie stroked his head, fascinated by the silky-smooth fine strands on James’s head. He shook his head. Too much alcohol was not a good mix in bed, and he’d had plenty already.

“No need, pet,” the term of endearment just slipped out, and James’s eyes seemed to soften when he heard it. He kissed Robbie again and then started to unbutton Robbie’s shirt. For a second Robbie just breathed and stared, thirstily drinking in the view of hands uncovering him to the dusk in the room; and then he helped James with the buttons and pulled James’s t-shirt up his torso and over his head and off him. 

The lad was astonishingly beautiful - there was no other word for it; golden skin, faint traces of white-golden hair on his chest and abdomen, long-limbed with sinewy muscles that hinted that he was some kind of athlete in another part of his life. Lewis had the advantage of the self-assuredness of middle-age; where you no longer really care that much about what you look like, but again he wondered for a second why James would choose him of all the people in the pub this evening. Then he put that thought away. 

James was looking at him hungrily and started to unbuckle Robbie’s belt. Then they were kissing again, their breathing quickened and Lewis could feel James’s pulse jump in his throat. Lewis felt like he’d been electrocuted as James traced his tongue over his clavicle, up his neck and along his jaw. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything so erotic. He unbuttoned James’s jeans and pushed them down slowly, unable to tear his eyes away as James’s cock jumped free and jutted up against his belly, eager and weeping. He wanted to taste. Needed to taste. He pushed James backwards to the bed, carefully holding the lad as he lowered him onto the mattress. James made a sound like he was breaking apart when Robbie tongued his slit and then swallowed him down, savouring the musky taste and the heat and the hard length in his mouth. He explored his pubic hair with his fingertips, and then moved lower and stroked the crevice between James’s legs. Then he stopped, he’d struck an object.

“I-” said James, suddenly bashful. Instantly Robbie understood. The lad had been wearing a plug, in anticipation of tonight. It was amazingly hot, the thought of James preparing himself for him. “I’ll go take it out,” said James and he slipped out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom. He looked slightly awkward when he returned and Robbie took him by the hand and pulled him down beside him, rubbing soothing circles on his stomach and side.

“You alright, love?”

James nodded and smiled up at him, but the smile was a little pinched and hesitant. Robbie kissed him gently.

“You sure? We don’t have to go any further than this if you don’t want to,” he said. 

This seemed to reassure James, and he said huskily, “No, I want this.”

Robbie laid him back and pushed his legs apart, gently fingering him open, making sure he was ready. Then he paused.

“More lube? I brought some condoms.”

James fumbled in the drawer of him bedside table and Robbie took out the lube and rolled a condom onto himself, trying not to show how out of practise he was at this. Then he slicked himself up generously and pushed slowly and carefully into the tight, hot heat of James. James tensed and Robbie stopped, remembering lessons learned long ago, and waited for James to relax. 

“Breathe, lad. Relax your muscles.”

James was staring at him, trusting but clearly nervous.

“Okay, love?”

James nodded.

“I want this, Robbie. Please.”

Robbie started thrusting in again, slowly, and then withdrawing, then thrusting again. It felt incredible, but the sensation faded to nothing when compared to James’s face. He was spellbound by the look on the boy’s face. It was a mixture of trust and determination and adoration. He had a sudden sense that this was the first time for James. It couldn’t be, could it? He wouldn’t choose some seedy bar as the place to find his first partner. Would he? He could feel James slowly relax, and then his expression changed. Now there was pleasure, lust. 

Robbie kissed him and then he pulled out and grabbed a pillow from the bed.

“Here, put this under your hips,” he instructed when James looked at him confused. “It will feel better.”

 

Then he pushed in again and James’s breath caught and he moaned softly. 

They were finding a rhythm now, thrusting and rutting into each other; all panting, mingled breaths and gentle cries of pleasure. He stroked James’s cock, eliciting exquisite whimpers of desperate need; and then kissed his mouth again and again, swallowing the sounds James made hungrily. Robbie felt a wave of unutterable tenderness for James building inside him, and then both of them were climaxing, James spilling over his fist and then Robbie felt his body go rigid as his own pleasure reached its height and came crashing down the other side. 

For a moment they lay silent, stunned by the intensity of their lovemaking.

Then James said, “Darkness took me. And I strayed out of thought and time.”

“That’s not from the bible, is it?” said Robbie shakily.

James giggled. “No. Tolkien. Lord of the Rings.”

Robbie chuckled too. “Not the bible then, unless you ask my daughter, in which case it’s very much the bible.” Oh. He hadn’t meant to talk about personal things.

“Fair enough,” said James. Then he said more hesitantly, “You have children?”

“Two,” said Robbie. “Both grown up now, and off exploring the world themselves.”

“Oh,” said James a little awkwardly.

“I was married,” said Robbie, suddenly wanting to explain. “My wife died a year ago.” He braced for the inevitable wave of pain that always overwhelmed him when he mentioned Val, but strangely it didn’t come. “I’m sorry,” he added. “I didn’t mean to unload my history on you.”

“I don’t mind,” said James shifting slightly underneath him.

Robbie realised he was still lying on top of James, and he moved off him, feeling himself slip out of James with the movement. Immediately he felt the loss of connection, and James was up off the bed in an instant, but returned seconds later with a wet cloth to clean them both up with. 

Lewis wondered if he ought to get up and get dressed now, leave politely. That’s how these things were supposed to go, weren’t they? But he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay with James, he felt an unexpected sense of protectiveness for the lad, especially as he was sure that somehow this was a first for James. He lay down on the bed again, pulling James with him and drew him into his arms, stroking his back and sides soothingly, taking pleasure in the satiny glide of the skin under his fingertips. He could feel James shiver in pleasure and nuzzle into his side. For a while he lay with James in his arms, silent, unmoving, almost boneless in their repletion, until their cooling bodies started to feel a little uncomfortable in the nighttime temperature of the room. Robbie tugged on the duvet and James helped him pull it up and over them both. They traded kisses, soft and lingering, there was no heat behind them now, just comfort and a sense of peacefulness.

Robbie woke in a cocoon of warmth and for a minute he couldn’t remember where he was. He only had a sense of perfect belonging. Then he felt James shift in his arms and he watched the lad blink awake. He ran his hand through James’s hair again, revelling in the silky smoothness and saw James’s eyelids flutter shut in pleasure. He pressed a kiss to James’s forehead.

“Morning, pet. Sleep well?”

James nodded silently and then gave him a tiny, wondering smile.

“I’d like to take you out to breakfast. Or brunch. What time is it?” said Robbie. James felt around on the bedside table for his phone and squinted at it.

“Half ten,” he said.

“How does brunch sound, so?”

“I’d like that.”

They walked to the cafe exchanging only basic observations, but once they had pancakes and coffee in front of them, the conversation flowed naturally.

“I’m studying theology,” said James.

“Oh,” said Robbie, “that’s an unusual one these days, isn’t it?”

James smiled in agreement, “Yes, it is a bit, I suppose.”

“Are you religious?” said Robbie, “not that it’s any of my business, of course.”

James hesitated. “Yes. I - I - don’t know. I was. I’m not so sure anymore.” He drummed his fingers on the tablecloth, and then he said, “It’s one of life’s little ironies, the more you study something, the more implausible it seems to become. I was going to go on to seminary, but I don’t think I will anymore.”

Lewis elected not to make a comment about would-be priests picking up men in bars.

“I’ve met a quite a few non-believing priests in my time,” he said instead, remembering some of the world-weary clergymen of Oxford he’d met with Morse over the years.

“Not Catholic ones,” said James.

“Now that you mention it, no.”

James gave him a little half-smile.

“It’s more about the gay thing,” he said morosely. Robbie nodded. There was no need to explain that one. But James had more to say. “It can’t escape anyone’s notice that it’s the Abrahamic religions that put up the biggest obstacle to acceptance of non-heterosexual relationships. When religious morality seems to be lagging a century behind secular morality, you have to wonder how anyone can regard them as moral leaders. And if they’re not moral leaders, then what are they for?”

Robbie hadn’t spoken to someone who evidently thought in entire paragraphs at a time in years, not since Morse died, so he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face.

“Me, I’m just a copper,” he said.

“A policeman?” said James.

Robbie nodded, “Thames Valley CID. Although I’m heading out to the BVI at the end of the week, probably for a couple of years.”

He noticed a look of - almost disappointment passing over James’s face. Then James sighed and said, “I’ll be going back to Cambridge at the end of the summer. To finish off the degree and then decide what to do next.”

“Well, I have no doubt that you’ll be exceptional at whatever you choose to turn your hand to,” said Robbie staunchly. He got a little smile for that. “Really,” Robbie continued, “there’s something special about you, James.”

The lad coloured a little about the cheeks at the compliment and he shot Robbie a pleased little smile that was as captivating as it was beautiful. Robbie felt desire building in him again and saw the same in James’s expression, the pupils in his eyes dilating, turning them almost black with need.

“How about we go back to your place?” he asked. James nodded eagerly. They rose together.

Three days later Robbie stood in the departures lounge of Heathrow Airport, watching flights appear and tick up and down on the board above his head and feeling more alone than he had ever done in his entire life. His head should have been filled with thoughts of the coming flight and the new job. Instead, his mind kept returning to James and the two nights they had spent together where time had seemed to cease as they had explored each other to the point of satiety, and then further to utter exhaustion. 

It was a pity, Robbie thought to himself, the timing of all this. But he was nowhere near ready to move on from Val. He wasn’t ready for a relationship. He wasn’t ready for anything right now. Then the call to board his flight came over the intercom and his thoughts turned to Lyn and Mark, to Morse and Val, everything he had lost and was leaving behind him. He forgot all about man he’d met.


	2. 2004

JUNE

DI Robert Lewis had found that working in the BVI was not exactly like the telly had promised on _Death In Paradise_. He hadn’t been looking for paradise, though. He needed oblivion. Numbness. Anything to make him forget how he had lost Val. There was no forgetting her, but he had hoped that he could begin to forget how he she had ended. She had been the best part of his life, his centre, his source of happiness, and the one constant he’d always thought would have. Even now, under the blazing sun and the peacock-blue skies, he’d be in the middle of a market and he’d find himself scanning for her brown head of hair. But she would never be there.

It was better though. He was adjusting to life after her. There were new cases, new people, new colleagues. It kept his mind from dwelling on the hollow ache in his centre that had existed ever since that day.

Sometimes, he felt the need for physical release, a hunger for touch and comfort, and headed to a discreet bar, the known but unacknowledged hangout for the gay population of Tortola. He always followed the same routine; he’d order a drink and then find a place to sit where he could scan the room, looking for someone. It came as a surprise to find that he was looking for a blonde head every time. The blondes he met were sometimes the very obvious product of dyes and bleach, but blonde was what he found he wanted. The results were, however, usually less than what he’d hoped for. Many were good-looking, with sculpted bodies and a seemingly insatiable appetite for sex and attention; but they left him dissatisfied and weary. Slowly the realisation dawned on Robbie that none of the gleaming bodies and smiling faces were him, James, and that was why every encounter disappointed and seemed an artificial facsimile of the real thing. That struck him as peculiar. It made no sense that a stranger he’d known for two days would become the new template against which everyone else was measured and found wanting. Robbie hadn’t even known his full name.

He gave up on the bar and started to stay home, and instead made do with a glass of whiskey and his hand. Memories of James became his ghost companion on those nights, the expression of bliss and trust on the lad’s face had burned itself into his mind, James and Robbie writhing against each other, riding each other to the heights of ecstasy; sweat and slick and semen on their bellies and hands.

Had things been different, Robbie thought that he and James might have become more to each other. He couldn’t the forget the intimacy of holding James afterwards, both of them sated and exhausted, James nuzzling and growling into his neck like a satisfied, overgrown panther. They had talked and dozed, lazily kissing each other as they snuggled sleepily together. It had been a moment of perfect peace, the first Robbie’d had since he’d lost Val. 

And then he’d had to leave, and in that last moment James had said his name, low and fervent, and had taken Robbie’s face in his hands and kissed him with such tenderness and longing. It had been a long time before or since that Robbie had been kissed like that. In another life, perhaps, they could have had more.

Then Robbie would wake, sweating from the Carribean heat in his empty bed. It would be another lonely day under a dazzling sun.

 

JULY

“I don’t understand what you want me to say,” said James. “You asked me a question, and I answered it.”

“You’re not listening to me. I asked you what God wants me to do. You can’t answer by telling me to leave the Church!” Will shouted. “You’re supposed to be training to be a priest. How can you even say something like that?”

“Well, I’m sorry the change to my career plans doesn’t meet with your approval. Jesus!” James sat down heavily and lit up a cigarette. 

Will winced. “I wish you wouldn’t use the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Sorry,” said James, a little contritely.

So you’re definitely not going to be a priest anymore?”

“No,” said James. “I don’t think so.”

“Don’t you believe in God?”

“It’s nothing to do with that,” said James. He trailed off and drew on his cigarette and exhaled, watching the smoke billow up to the ceiling and disappear.

“Then what?” said Will.

James exhaled another lungful of smoke and then hesitated before he said, “It’s exactly what you asked me about. I have issues with the Church’s position on homosexuality. I think they are wrong. Not you. Not me. _They’re_ wrong.”

“But what if you’re wrong and they’re right?” said Will.

James shrugged. “Well, the Church’s position is ‘Men who commit indecent acts with other men will receive due punishment for their perversion’. It’s the twenty-first century, Will. Nobody believes that anymore. We’re not living in the Dark Ages. You don’t have to listen to primitive moralising.”

Will subsided unhappily on his end of the couch. “Feardorcha and I were talking about joining this group called The Garden for counselling.”

“Couples counselling?” said James.

Will went silent and stared miserably at his feet.

“N-no,” he said.

“Will?” 

“It’s counselling for gays.”

“Will! No! There’s nothing wrong with you. Don’t listen to what the Church has to say. You’re not - _disordered_.” James spat the last word with contempt.

“But you could be wrong,” said Will pleadingly.

“I’m not,” said James, “it’s not wrong.”

“How do you know?” said Will.

“I just do,” said James. Then he relented and added, “I met someone, and he was beautiful. When we were together he was loving and gentle and caring. He was perfect. Good. It wasn’t wrong.”

“You have a boyfriend? Is he in Cambridge?” said Will.

James hesitated. “No. He doesn’t live in England anymore.”

“How long were you together?” 

James fell silent. The true nature of his encounter probably wasn’t ideal material for the purposes of this conversation.

“That’s not important,” he said.

Will looked unconvinced. “So you had sex with a man and now he’s gone. How is that perfect?”

“It wasn’t like that,” said James.

“How can you say he was loving, if he left you?”

James sighed and said peevishly, “He just was, okay? I don’t care if you believe me or not.” He felt resentful now, although whether it was more at himself for getting into this conversation or at Will for precipitating it, he wasn’t sure.

“Do you remember when we were children, James?”

“Yes,” said James.

“Life was simpler then.”

“That’s because we didn’t know any better,” said James. He winced. “I was a stupid, sanctimonious little prick.”

Will smiled a little crookedly. “You still are, a bit.”

James choked on his cigarette and grinned. Then he looked serious again. “Don’t join that group, Will. You don’t have to let anyone control your life.”

Will’s face dropped again. “My relationship with God is important to me, James. Why can’t you understand that?”

“I do understand. At least, I’m trying to. But you don’t need the Church for a relationship with God.”

“Yes, you do,” Will insisted, “it’s the Obedience Of Faith. The Catechism says ‘By faith, man completely submits his intellect and his will to God.’ We learned that together in Catechism class, don’t you remember?”

James rolled his eyes. “Well, of course the Church says that, otherwise they’d be out of a job.”

Will looked sadly at him. “When did you become so cynical and closed-minded, James?”

“Me? I’m the closed-minded one because I suspect that a particular version of a particular religion may not be the moral authority it likes to claim to be? For heaven’s sakes, Will!”

“Please, James. Don’t be like this.” Will looked close to tears, and James wavered a little, feeling guilty about his flippancy.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you sad. I just don’t know what you want me to say to you.”

“I want you to tell me what the right thing to do is,” said Will.

“I think you should leave the Church and have your own relationship with God,” said James. “You’re a good person, don’t believe that you are wrong for loving Feardorcha.”

Sadness and anger flickered in Will’s eyes.

“You’ve lost your way, James.” He rose and headed for the door. “I’m sorry I asked you.”

“Don’t go, Will,” said James, “we can talk some more about it.”

“No,” said Will. He squared his shoulders and refused to look back. “I don’t want to talk to you about this ever again.”


	3. 2005

JUNE

“What’s wrong with you, James?” Jonjo bounced onto the couch and wriggled onto his back, staring at him from upside-down. 

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” said James, sounding more annoyed than defensive, “just because I don’t go screwing around every Friday night.”

“I used to think it was because of the priest thing,” said Jonjo, “but then you didn’t go into the seminary. So, what gives? Have you ever even had sex?”

James gave him an unimpressed look.

“Oh my God, you have, haven’t you?” Jonjo sounded far more elated than James thought the subject matter merited. “Was he any good? Or was it she?”

James affected a look that he hoped conveyed complete indifference, and sipped at his glass of water. Since that first night two years ago, he’d tried a few more hook-ups in clubs, but they’d been disappointing, the sum of ever-diminishing returns. Nothing matched the intensity of those nights with Robbie; the tenderness, the pleasure, the unexpected sense of belonging.

“Fuck off, Jonjo,” he said.

Jonjo threw a cushion at him.

“Fine,” said Jonjo. “What I really wanted to talk to you about is Will.”

“What about him?” said James slightly acidly.

“Want to come with me to visit him and Ferdy?”

“Will doesn’t want to see me,” said James shortly.

“Yes, I know. But c’mon. We have to try to get them out of that group. It’s all kinds of evil.”

“Yes, well, I already told him that the last time I tried to persuade him to leave it, he said he didn’t want to talk to me again,” said James.

“So, try again anyway,” said Jonjo. “He used to be your best friend. That has to mean something.”

“Alright,” said James. “Fine, I’ll go with you. It won’t do any good though. He’s already made his mind up.”

“Yeah, well, he can un-make his mind up then,” said Jonjo sitting upright again. “So are you definitely back in Oxford for good now?”

“I think so,” said James. “I’m waiting to hear back from St Gerard’s, but the interview went well.”

“Good stuff,” said Jonjo, “We can go clubbing together. Find you a nice man and-slash-or woman to gladden your middle-aged heart.”

James scowled at him.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve refused to tell me which you prefer,” said Jonjo.

“I’ll think you’ll find,” said James, “that I will be busy reading for my degree.”

“For heaven’s sakes, James, you’re completely missing the point of being a student.”

“Screwing your way into oblivion is the point of being a student?”

“Oh, God! You’re no fun,” said Jonjo. “You, mate, are going to become my new project. I will not rest until Hathaway has managed to have some fun and has dragged himself home at four in the morning drunk off his tits.”

“I can barely contain my excitement,” said James dourly.

 

SEPTEMBER

“Ah, the wanderer returns!”

Laura Hobson gave Lewis a cheery smile and then eyed his lurid island shirt dubiously as they met at the entrance path to the building.

“Doctor Hobson.” Robbie was pleased to see her again, she was not much changed in the two years since he had seen her last. Still the same merry, mischievous eyes under a fringe of blonde hair. “Good to see you,” he said.

“How was it?” she asked, sympathy and kindness infusing her tone, as he slowed his pace to match to hers.

He shrugged non-committedly. “It was,” he searched for words. “It was a start.”

She smiled at him, understanding his reticence and linked her arm through his.

“Do you think Oxford’s changed much?”

“No.” Robbie sighed and peered up at the skyline around him. Then he added a little more sadly, “It changed before I left.”

She patted his arm and then squeezed it.

“So you’re back in the saddle before you’ve even hit the ground.”

“Seems that way,” he said. “Although I got the distinct impression that the new Chief Superintendent would have liked to put me out to pasture, only she’s down an inspector and a sergeant at the moment apparently. So, she’s stuck with me.”

“Her good fortune, then,” said Laura loyally. 

Robbie gave her a faint smile as he accepted the scene suit his sergeant was trying to palm off on him.

“Welcome home,” she added.


	4. 2008

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life Born Of Fire

Lewis hurried up the path to St Mark’s Church. SOCO was already all over the place and his sergeant had warned him that the scene was bloody.

As he blinked in the relative dark of the interior, he spotted Laura Hobson’s white-clad figure crouched over a prone body surrounded by the debris of shattered statues.

“Robbie,” she greeted him as he walked up the aisle.

“Laura,” he nodded to her in greeting.

“Single gunshot wound to the front of the head. Self-inflicted. There’s no doubt about it, you’ve got a witness.” Here she gestured with her head towards a priest skulking in the shadows beside the altar.

“Thanks,” he said. 

“Don’t come any closer,” she said. “SOCO needs to do their thing first. This one is pretty messy. Intentionally so.”

Lewis indicated his understanding and turned to the man in the corner.

“DI Lewis,” he said, holding up his badge. “Father?” 

“Reverend Francis King,” the man replied. He looked shaken and ill.

“You saw the whole thing?”

The priest nodded, mopping his brow and his lips with a shaking hand. “He just shot himself, right there in front of me.”

“Did you know the victim?”

The man fidgeted nervously and said, “Yes. Not very well, but he used to attend here occasionally. His name was Will McEwan. I’ve called one of his friends to come down.”

Lewis frowned. “There was no need to do that,” he said. “This isn’t the sort of thing that friends need to see. Not in this state.”

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought of that,” said the priest. “Only I didn’t know his family, and so I didn’t know who to contact. This friend, Hathaway would know them.”

“Have you any idea why he would do this? Had he been depressed?”

The priest shook his head. “I don’t know anything, I’m afraid.” Lewis knew when he was hearing prevarication and was about to probe further when he was interrupted by a gasp. He raised his head and saw the man from the pub from all those years ago. James. His James. James was standing in front of the altar, looking horrified at the corpse on the floor. Then he turned, stared wildly at Lewis and ran out of the building. Lewis fixed the priest with a reproachful glare and tore after the fleeing figure.

He found James among the tombstones, throwing up and retching. Lewis fumbled in his pockets for his handkerchief and handed it over to James with a calming hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, lad. Reverend King had no business asking you to come down here.”

James stared at him, wiping his mouth and spitting, grimacing at the taste of stomach acid.

“Robbie?”

Lewis nodded. “Yes.”

“You’re a policeman. I remember.”

He nodded again. “D’you want to sit down, James?” he gestured to the stone bench in the churchyard.

James nodded and then seated himself, rather wobbly and unsteadily. Robbie wanted to reach out and smooth that head, still as close-cropped as it was as the day he’d first seen it. But it was not for him to touch.

“Deep breaths, lad. You’re the Hathaway that Reverend King called?” 

James nodded again and then fiddled in his pocket for a lighter and a packet of cigarettes, and then lit one and inhaled shakily.

“Of all the places to see you again,” murmured James.

“Aye,” agreed Robbie. Unanswered questions hung in the air between them. But now was hardly the time nor place.

“So, you knew the - Will McEwan?” Lewis checked his notepad for the name.

James nodded. “We’ve been - were - friends since we were at school together. In the last few years we haven’t seen much of each other though.”

“Just grew apart?” asked Robbie.

James shook his head. “We had a bit of a falling out. He’s gay. I mean, he was -” here he stuttered a bit, fumbling for words. “I was Catholic like him, and about four years ago he came to speak to me about it. He thought I’d gone into the seminary. He wanted to know if God wanted him to be gay and whether it was a trial or if he would be judged for it. I didn’t handle it as well as I could. I told him the Church would judge him for it, and he should get out for his own sanity.”

“Get out of the Church?”

James nodded. “I was a bit of a smug, self-righteous git about it. I was so convinced I was right, that I didn’t see that my advice wasn’t helpful at all.”

“I don’t know. Seems like reasonable enough advice to me,” Lewis observed. James looked at him gratefully.

“Only what I didn’t know was that he and his boyfriend had already joined this group, The Garden. It’s an ultra-conservative group who think that gay people can be cured through acts of penance and sacrifice. So leaving religion was not an option for him as far as he was concerned, and what I said just made him angry. He told me I wasn’t listening to him and went away.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lewis. “Did you ever see him again?”

James shook his head, and then nodded. 

“Yes, just the once. Jonjo and I went to see him to try to convince him to leave the group, but he wouldn’t talk to us.”

“And Jonjo is?”

“Jonjo Read. Another friend of ours from school.”

Lewis nodded.

“Alright. I don’t think I’m going to need any more than that. There’s no case. It looks like it’s a clear suicide, and there’s no need for a police investigation.” He winced, hoping that didn’t sound too callous. “I’ll just need to inform the next-of-kin.”

“I could go with you, if you’d like,” said James. “They knew me. His parents, I mean.”

Lewis looked at him assessingly and then nodded, “Alright, if you’re sure you feel up to it. Thank you.”

On the way over in the car Lewis looked at his companion and asked, “So what are you doing these days?”

“Perpetual student,” said James. Then he elaborated, “I got a job as a research assistant at St Gerard’s College while I do my MPhil in Theology. Then I’ll do a DPhil.”

“Still a believer then?”

“Nope,” said James shaking his head.

“They don’t mind functional atheists studying theology?”

James laughed silently.

“Father Mancini might. But most of them, no, not really. One of our senior professors is not only not a believer, but also a woman. I think they mind her far more than they mind me. And she’s good. Really good.”

“So what do you study then?”

“Biblical historicity, textual criticism, that kind of thing.”

“And in English we say what?”

James smiled at him slightly.

“We look at who might have authored the texts, where they were interpolated - that’s where people added bits later on - when they were written, how each text differs from other versions and why.”

“Doesn’t sound like anything we learned in Sunday School.”

“No,” James’s pronunciation sounded particularly clipped now. “That would get people wondering whether any of it was really the word of God.”

“Ah, I see the problem.”

 

Telling the grieving next-of-kin was always the worst part of Lewis’s job, it never got easier and there were never adequate words to say what had to be said. He admired Hathaway, who handled the situation with solemn calm, holding Will’s mother as she wept, and speaking soothingly and caringly as she chattered in the nervous babble that people tended to blurt out when they were living through the worst kind of shock. Lewis was keen to leave, his work here done, and only fleetingly paid attention to mention of Will’s poor girlfriend as they parted company with Mrs McEwan.

James frowned as they got into the car.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“What doesn’t?” said Lewis.

“Will was gay. He didn’t have girlfriends. In fact,” here he sighed and took out his phone, checking it, “I should get hold of Feardorcha. Someone needs to tell him.”

“And Feardorcha would be?” Lewis prompted.

“Feardorcha Phelan. Will’s boyfriend. They’ve been together for years. Or at least, they were when I last saw them. I don’t know how the girlfriend fits into all this, unless The Garden put Will up to this.”

James rang the number, but got no answer.

“Nasty bit of business, this Garden,” observed Lewis. 

James nodded, face scowling with displeasure.

“I’ll drop you off at the Church so you can pick up your car,” said Lewis.

“I don’t have one,” said James. “I cycled. But thanks.”

Then he looked sideways at Robbie and said, “I know this is a really weird time for it. But. Would you like to - I mean, could we?” He exhaled in frustration at himself and said, “Would you like to meet up for a drink some time?”

Lewis considered this for a microsecond before smiling, “I’d like that. Maybe this weekend, if you’re free?”

James mirrored his smile.

Lewis realised when his sergeant gave him puzzled looks back at the office, that he’d been grinning. He’d rarely thought of James in the years since they had met, other than in bed late at night. His memory had featured in more than several orgasms, and Robbie felt slightly guilty about that now. But he’d never expected to see James again. He hadn’t even known his full name. James Hathaway. Still graceful and different, and now, unexpectedly, still interested in him. He was looking forward to Friday night in a way he hadn’t in too long a time.

But twenty-four hours later everything had gone wrong. The Reverend King had been found dead in his own rooms, murdered gruesomely with a poker through the eyeball and a cryptic message about fire and Gethsemane had been left scrawled on the wall. With few leads other than the opaque clues at the scene, he was going to have to interview James Hathaway, formally this time.

He didn’t think that Hathaway seemed the crazed murderer type, but it had to be admitted that he barely knew James at all. Two nights of passionate, anonymous love-making five years ago did not amount to a particularly thorough character profile. He was going to have to do this by the book, or he’d end up compromising his own investigation. He’d do James the courtesy of not bringing him in for questioning. Yet. 

He scowled and set off for St Gerard’s College.

“Robbie!” James looked up, surprised and pleased to see him as Lewis knocked and entered the study that served as his official room as Research Assistant to Professor Pinnock.

“I’m afraid I’m here in my official capacity, James,” said Robbie, watching the lad’s face drop in disappointment. “There’s been another death, and this time it’s murder.”

James’s face registered surprise and alarm.

“Reverend King was murdered last night and there was a message painted on the wall: ‘Life born of fire’. Does the phrase mean anything to you?”

James shook his head.

“No.” Then he thought for a minute and said, “There are some evergreen trees that use fire to release their seeds. Pines, for example. And then there’s the mythological Phoenix bird that some cultures believed used to rise from the ashes of its predecessor. Other than that, nothing comes to mind.”

“Nothing in Christianity?”

James shrugged. “Not particularly. Fire as a purifying agent, yes, but not as the start of life. There’s ‘chol’ in Hebrew texts that was sometimes translated as phoenix, but it’s more commonly accepted to mean ‘sand’.”

“How well did King know Will McEwan?”

James looked surprised. “Umm, quite well, probably? He was also part of The Garden. Oh, wait. I think _they_ use the symbol of the phoenix as their badge. Or something like that.”

Lewis snorted. Of course. The Very Reverend ‘I Don’t Know Anything’ King had been up to his eyes in it.

“Can you think of anyone who would try to get revenge for Will’s death?” 

James looked startled. 

“No,” he said, sounding somewhat offended.

“I’ll be needing the number of the ex-boyfriend, please. I’ll have to question him too. Have you spoken to him yet?”

James shook his head.

“The number just rings out,” he said, taking his phone out of his pocket and then writing down the number for Lewis.

“Look, I’m sorry about all these questions,” said Lewis a little more meekly.

“No, it’s fine,” said James with a slight frown. “I understand, you’re just doing your job.”

“Unfortunately, it also means I’ll have to cancel Friday night. Technically, you’re a material witness and a potential suspect. I’m sorry. Another time, perhaps.” 

James looked shocked at that, but then he nodded and looked so crestfallen that Lewis felt awful as he walked away. He didn’t want it to end like this. Maybe James would forgive him when the investigation was over.

He saw James a few days later at Will’s funeral, walking alongside the unfortunate girlfriend, Zoë Kenneth, who Lewis had come to see. James dropped back behind them politely to let them talk in private, with only a cool nod to Lewis. Zoë seemed charming if a little sad; a reasonable enough reaction, Lewis felt, for anyone in her position. She seemed to think that Feardorcha was dead or gone. 

Lewis left without a goodbye to James, who was avoiding eye-contact with him. He sighed quietly to himself in resignation. It was the typical response of someone deeply offended at being regarded as a suspect. Being a copper was like a social death warrant. Damn his job. He’d been so close to getting to know the one person he’d felt might be worth it after all these years, and now his chance to be with him again was disintegrating just when he’d thought he’d finally held it in his hands.

There was still no trace of the enigmatic Feardorcha, dead or otherwise.

The case got worse. Another member of The Garden was dead, this time a woman administrator who’d managed to make enemies with a significant percentage of Oxford’s liberal population. Then there were three bodies, no Feardorcha, and James seemed to have taken up with Zoë. Lewis had spotted them together at the pride march and his sergeant had tailed them to the local new gay nightclub, Communion one evening. He wondered idly if James was bisexual too. He’d always assumed he was gay, but what did he know about James, really?

Lewis was stumped. He kept the police tail on Hathaway and Zoë. The case bothered him more than it should, and if he was honest with himself, it could only be because of the presence of James Hathaway. His copper instincts told him that both James and Zoë were far more involved in this than he could see just yet. But that was the issue. There was something to this case that he was just not seeing.

It all boiled down to what Innocent said, “There are three options. One, Feardorcha’s the killer. Two, he’s being set up and he’s alive. Three, he’s being set up and he’s dead.”

Then she said, “What does this mean? ‘Significance of names?’”

“I just wondered if there might be a double meaning in a name.” said Lewis. They looked at each other and set to work.

 

“What’s wrong with me?” James murmured.

“Nothing,” said Zoë. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“There is,” said James.

“I really like you,” she answered, stroking his head and kissing him gently on the temple.

“I’m really drunk,” said James with giggle. “What’s wrong with me? Nobody likes me. I can’t even cry.”

“I always liked you,” said Zoë, “in spite of it all.”

“In spite of what?” said James confused. “Always?”

She smiled at him patiently and something clicked into place in his brain.

“Feardorcha?” he said.

She smiled again. He tried to sit up, but his limbs wouldn’t obey him. Perhaps he had turned to lead with the weight of guilt.

“But,” he said, “you - your face. What did you do?”

Zoë sat down next to him on the bed and put her arm around his shoulders. “Brazil. The best surgeons Will could afford,” she said. “I became Zoë. I was the phoenix.”

“I’m so sorry, Zoë,” he said. “The Garden lied to you both. I’m so sorry you believed them.”

“So am I,” she said.

“You killed them.”

“Yes, all of them,” she said, “and now there’s only you and me left.”

James tried to struggle.

“Why can’t I move?”

“It’s just a sedative, don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing, I don’t want you to feel any pain. Just go to sleep now.”

“Why?” James whispered. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“You could have stopped this. Will always listened to you. He admired you.”

“I did try,” he protested weakly.

“You should have tried again,” she said sadly. “You don’t know how much power you had over him. I may have been the one with him, but it was always your opinion that mattered.”

“It didn’t matter enough. I tried,” James whispered.

“I know,” she said. “Go to sleep.”

 

The house was blazing when the police cars descended on the home address of Zoë Kenneth. Lewis was the first out and burst through the door shouting “James? Hathaway?”

He found them on the bed and shouted instructions at his colleagues to get the woman out of the house, while he lifted James bodily over his shoulder and staggered out of the building. Zoë struggled and screamed her frustration at her rescuers, but Lewis paid no attention until he had Hathaway safely on the paving outside. James moved weakly in his arms and tried to sit up, but gave in when Robbie covered him with his own body as the building exploded.

 

A light was shining in his eyes, and James wondered if it was the fire, claiming him at last. But the light was steady and unmoving, and after some time he realised it was above him and he was lying in what was unmistakably a hospital bed. He looked around to see Robbie Lewis standing against the wall to his side.

“Robbie?”

“James.”

“Did Zoë get out?”

Lewis shook his head.

“Sorry, she didn’t make it. She made sure she didn’t.”

“She was Feardorcha. Zoë, I mean. I didn’t recognise him. Her. Until too late.”

“Yes,” said Lewis. “We worked that out in the end.”

“How long have I been asleep?” said James, trying to sit up.

“Nearly a day,” said Lewis. “She drugged you.”

James absorbed this in silence.

“Thank you,” he said. “You saved me.”

“It’s my job,” said Robbie.

“She said that I could have stopped Will,” James said listlessly.

“It wasn’t your fault, lad. You weren’t to blame for any of this.”

Robbie could see the wounded look in James’s eyes.

“But you suspected me.”

Lewis shifted uncomfortably.

“I had to,” he said awkwardly. “I’m sorry. But a policeman can’t make exceptions, no matter their personal feelings, or they could be misled and get the case wrong.”

The explanation didn’t help. Deep offence and hurt welled up in James’s eyes. Robbie desperately wanted to touch him and sooth the injuries away.

“Well, thank you for rescuing me,” said James stiffly, and then he turned his head away and stared at the wall.

“That’s alright,” said Robbie. “Well, you look after yourself, James. See you around someday, maybe.” 

Then he turned and walked away feeling gutted. It was hard for a civilian to understand that a copper had to follow procedure without making exceptions, but this meant that Robbie had all but told James that the job was more important than he was. He’d mucked up his chance at a relationship, and hurt James into the bargain.

He wanted to turn around and go back.

But James had turned his face away. Robbie kept on walking.

He couldn’t get the look of betrayal on James’s face out of his head for weeks.


	5. 2011

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wild Justice

What sort of a place used actual candles as a light source in the twenty-first century? That’s what Lewis wanted to know. The ‘Faith In Justice’ session hosted by St Gerard’s College had managed to yield one dead Bishop either way, and so Lewis strode into the walled cloister at a little after ten on a bright summer morning.

“It’s not a college as such, it’s a Private Hall” was the first bit of useless information he was given by the Vice Regent, Father Mancini.

“Bishop Helen, she was lovely. Everyone liked her, it’s just impossible that anyone would want to poison her.”

This was the next not particularly helpful thing that was said, this offered by Brother Jeremy.

“We’re friars, not monks.” This was the information offered by Brother Steven Blackmore.

Lewis was rapidly reaching the end of his patience and good nature by the time he reached the inner sanctum, so to speak, of the place and was able to gain access to the other less ecclesiastic members of the College.

“The chapel’s rather famous. Sixteen hundreds.” This last bit was offered by a Professor Joanne Pinnock, a flurried but friendly woman rushing off to finish off some final preparations for her son’s wedding.

Lewis sighed and decided that maybe the chapel could do with a quick once over while he collected his thoughts.

He pushed open the heavy ancient door on the edifice. It creaked like a prop in a Sixties Dracula movie and he had to remind himself not to roll his eyes, at least not where anyone could see him.

As his eyes adjusted to the lower level of light in the building he became aware that he was not alone. A figure was hunched over in a pew, with its feet up on the seat. As he walked down the aisle, the figure’s head popped up and a face he hadn’t seen in years scowled at him and then changed its expression to one of surprise.

“Robbie?”

“James. Fancy meeting you here.”

“I work here,” said James.

“Yes, I remember,” said Robbie.

“You’re here about Bishop Parsons.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“That’s right,” said Robbie.

“Am I a suspect again?” James’s tone was only slightly edged, but Robbie detected more facetiousness than challenge.

“Everyone’s a suspect until we eliminate them for the purposes of the enquiry. But, no, not particularly,” he said, “unless you had reason to poison the Bishop?”

James shook his head. “I’d actually never met her. Knew of her, of course. But I’m merely a lowly doctoral candidate; and thus was of no relevance to the Colloquium.”

“You often come in here to pray?” asked Robbie.

Hathaway raised an eyebrow and waved the book he was carrying in his hand. “I come in here to read. It’s quiet. There are surprisingly few people who come in here outside the hours of Mass.”

Robbie huffed in amusement.

“So, tell me about this Colloquium?”

“Um, the Colloquium was for fostering the spirit of interfaith Ecumenism. That means -” 

“Striving towards Christian unity as well as sometimes referring to a shared spirituality with the other two Abrahamic faiths?”

James stared at him, half amused and half impressed.

“That’s exactly correct.”

“Amazing what you pick up,” said Lewis airily. “So what do you do these days when you’re not being a doctoral candidate?”

“I’m Professor Pinnock’s research assistant. Actually my thesis has just been submitted, I mostly lecture to first years these days.”

“Ah, I met her,” said Robbie. “Nice woman.”

Again this was received with an amused eyebrow.

“So tell us, what’s the difference between monks and friars?” said Robbie.

“Monks stay in, friars go out,” said James, “well, more or less.”

“Right,” said Lewis. “I’m co-opting you as my guide while I’m here.”

“Virgil to your Dante,” said James with a slight bow.

“Haven’t met either of them, I’m afraid,” said Lewis with a slight smirk.

“Very droll, Inspector Lewis,” said Hathaway.

 

Not everyone was as copacetic as his new partner with the co-opting of James Hathaway as guide to Thames Valley CID investigations.

Mrs Goff, the college’s patron and doyenne, frowned and said pointedly, “Do you think he looks even remotely like a policeman?”

Robbie counted to five and tried to look as stern as he could get his features to cooperate with.

“He’d be a credit, ma’am.”

“That may be so, Inspector, but surely you agree that his time would be better spent on more worthy pursuits?”

“I’m investigating a murder, ma’am,” said Robbie.

“Hmph,” she replied, unimpressed with the suggestion that set investigations of mere mortals against that of ancient tomes.

James looked slightly amused and gave Mrs Goff a fond smile.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t interfere with my worthier pursuits, Mrs Goff.”

She gave him a knowing look, but Robbie thought that he detected a hint of a smile on her face.

Mrs Goff’s daughter was a different kettle of fish altogether if Robbie was any judge. It seemed to him that she resented being tied to the college, but knew well enough that her heritage was her only source of money. She seemed twitchy and evasive, although Robbie couldn’t see any connection between her and the Bishop. Whatever secrets she was hiding likely had nothing to do with his case.

All in all, his day at St Gerard’s had his head whirling. There were too many people involved to make anything about the case clear to him. Like any college in Oxford, it seemed to be filled to the brink with jealous types, all vying for top honours and ready to plot each other’s academic downfall to get it. More to the point, it turned out that Robbie had arrived just when the college was gearing up to vote on who would be the next Vice Regent.

“It’s not as peaceable or dignified a process as you’d imagine,” said James. “Half the candidates abhor the other half. Not that they’d kill each other or anything,” he added hastily.

“Explain that one for me?” said Robbie.

“Well, Joan Pinnock and Caroline Hope are both candidates. Both of them are women, obviously.”

“Obviously,” echoed Robbie.

“Some of the clergy around here are not keen on the idea of a woman heading up the college. They’re even less keen on Caroline Hope as she isn’t even a believer. Even worse, she teaches Literature rather than a religious subject.”

Robbie grunted in amusement. “I can see how that would get up their noses.”

James smiled slightly.

James was different. He’d changed. Of course, he was older than that shy lad that Robbie’d met all those years ago, and he’d been through a lot. Losing two of your friends the way he had, had to have done some damage. He seemed a little more distant and aloof now. Yet Robbie had the distinct impression that James was a happier man these days, more serene, more confident.

He’d often regretted not turning around and going back to the hospital that night he’d left James there. He’d wanted to beg him for forgiveness, ask him for another chance. But James had been so hurt, grieving for his friends, grieving over the betrayal by Zoë, and possibly his betrayal by Lewis himself. The timing had been all wrong. At the time, it had seemed to Robbie that he’d messed up his one chance to be with James.

James stared off into the distance, a frown marred his features.

“None of it makes sense though. Bishop Parsons was our guest, and has nothing to do with the college under normal circumstances.”

Robbie noted this down and made a mental note to check out the Bishop’s movements in the days leading up to her death. He was beginning to think that she may not have been the intended victim himself. 

“Well, thank you, James. I think I’ve seen all I needed to today. I may be back with more questions, of course.”

James smiled, “Of course. Then I look forward to your next interrogation.” He bowed slightly. Robbie rolled his eyes. James hesitated and looked as if he were about to say something else, but then smiled again and walked across the grassy courtyard and disappeared back inside the building.

On his way out, Robbie bumped into Felix Sansome, who appeared to be chief cook and bottlewasher for the Goff family. He was appalled. What sort of humans needed someone cooking and serving for them, he wondered. Ah well, these people, apparently.

Over the following days Lewis had established that the good Bishop did indeed appear to be the unfortunate but unintended victim of the crime. Then another body was found. Lewis sighed. He was dealing with yet another bloody maniac on a rampage here. Why Oxford’s murdering classes couldn’t satisfy themselves with a single victim is something he wished he knew.

The third victim made Lewis despair for his fellow human being and it started to make the whole thing look like the murderer was a denizen of St Gerard’s after all. The manner of the murders were laid out to echo Jacobean Revenge plays. That meant it looked like it was either Caroline Hope, although why a mild-mannered literary professor would want to murder her way to the top of a religious college escaped him; or it was the last remaining rival, Professor Pinnock, trying to pin the murders on the prime candidate, although where she could have found the time to plot a string of murders in between planning her son’s wedding was beyond him too. Lewis wouldn’t have put his money on either of them. Well, it was back to the college for him.

“Brother Stephen was a traditionalist, and as the only religious candidate was certainly the preferred successor to Father Mancini. But the idea that either Caroline or Joan would have killed him -” Hathaway shook his head in disbelief. “They care about their work, not about status.”

“They care a bit about their status,” Robbie pointed out, “otherwise they wouldn’t be standing for Vice Regent in the first place.”

James frowned but shrugged in acquiescence. 

“Even still,” he said, “neither of them is the mentally unhinged sort of individual who would think they could continue their career on the backs of dead colleagues.”

“You should have been a lawyer, James,” Robbie said with a smile. 

He got a half-grin as a reply.

Lewis had to concede that Hathaway had a point. On the other hand, with three bodies and no clear suspect, he was beginning to get frowns and pointed remarks from CS Innocent. He decided to drop in on the wedding of Joanne Pinnock’s son to see if he could spot anything with the prime candidates out of their natural habitats.

As he crossed the street in front of the hall hosting the nuptial celebrations, screaming erupted from inside and guests began to pour out the front door and down the steps towards him. Caroline Hope recognised him, and said, “It’s James, he got him. Oh God, he nearly killed him.”

Lewis sprinted into the building and pushed his way through the milling panicked crowd. Joanne Pinnock was weeping into the shoulder of a shocked-looking young man and hugging him close to her. Her son, Lewis guessed.

He yelled, “Police, let me through!” and finally the the crowds parted and he was confronted by the sight of a triumphant but bruised James sitting on top of a struggling man.  
“I spotted him creeping up on Neville Pinnock,” he explained as he saw Robbie approach. The man underneath Hathaway was Felix Sansome. Caroline Hope’s panicky words finally slotted into place. ‘He nearly killed him’ referred to Sansome nearly killing Pinnock’s son, not his James. James was safe. James was innocent.

 

“Got yourself quite the shiner there,” Robbie mentioned as he pulled out his phone and called for backup.

Hathaway lifted a hand to his cheek and winced.

“Ow, dammit.”

“Well done. Perhaps you should have been a policeman instead of a lawyer.”

James grinned at him cheekily.

With Sansome taken into custody and whipped away for questioning, Lewis had little to do during the mopping up part of the proceedings. Hathaway had been hugged and kissed and wept over by Professor Pinnock for saving her son, and then he’d been sent off to the ambulance crew to get his face seen to.

“You’re going to look like a prize fighter for a few days,” Robbie remarked to James when he’d been released by the medics.

James was smiling even though half of his face was swelling up and he had a cut over one brow. “You should have seen the other guy,” he said.

“It was impressive, James,” said Robbie. “I mean, it was spectacularly dangerous risking yourself like that, but it was brave and you’ve probably saved more than one life here.”

James tried to shrug it off with humility, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“Why did he do it, Robbie? Do you know?”

“We haven’t quite gotten to the bottom of it yet, but it sounded like he had it in for Caroline Hope, it goes all the way back to when they were children. We’ll be questioning him for the full story. Her too, probably.”

James shuddered and Robbie wanted to touch him again, but pulled back before he made a move towards him.

“You should get yourself home, lad. Get something hot and sweet to drink. For the shock.”

James looked at him solemnly. “I’ll be alright,” he said. Then he hesitated and took a step towards Robbie. “Robbie? We only ever seem to have the worst possible timing, but would you like to um, meet me for a drink sometime?”

“Ah, James. I’m sorry, I’m - I’ve been seeing someone,” said Robbie regretfully, but truthfully.

James nodded, and suddenly seemed awkward and clumsy in his own skin. “Oh.” He looked crestfallen. Then he smiled slightly, although it didn’t reach his eyes, “Like I said, the worst timing. Well, it was good seeing you again. I hope it works out for you, you deserve to be happy.”

Then he gave a slight bow and turned and walked away rapidly.

Robbie felt his heart sink. Part of him wanted to run after James. The other side of him though - well. Public displays of emotion were not his thing. They never had been. It was the sensible choice to stick with the person he was with. He liked her. She liked him. It was working, for both of them.

He’d almost convinced himself it was the right decision by the time he got back to the station, but his mood was ruined and he brooded for days afterwards.


	6. 2013

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramblin' Boy

Of all the miserable places that Lewis had ever thought he’d find himself in, this dingy hotel bar in Prishtina, Kosovo had never ranked anywhere. He’d be heading over the border to Split in the morning, but for now he was killing time and in a dour mood. The beer was decent, but that was all the place had to recommend it. It was a depressing way to spend a Friday night.

“I don’t believe it. Robbie Lewis.”

Robbie swiveled in his seat and saw James Hathaway approaching with a surprised look on his face, cigarette dangling from his fingers and a bottle of beer clutched at the neck in the other hand.

“James,” he said, unable to contain the smile that spread over his own features. “What are you doing here, lad?”

“You go first.”

“I’m on the trail of a drug-smuggling bent copper,” said Robbie.

“Am I a suspect again?” said James with a cheeky grin.

“Ah, give over. Not unless you’ve started a new career sewing crystal meth into corpses,” said Robbie.

Faint repugnance crossed James’s face. “God. People do that?” he asked.

Robbie raised his eyebrows and shrugged in confirmation, “Some people do, apparently.”

“Your Significant Other doesn’t mind your chasing dangerous criminals across borders?”

“There is no Significant Other, hasn’t been in a long time,” said Robbie with a slight grimace. “So, what are you doing here?”

“I come out here every year during the summer holidays, just for a couple of weeks. There’s an orphanage that a group of us visit and do a bit of annual maintenance for. Painting walls, new gutters, that sort of thing. Basically unpaid manual labour.”

“Good of you,” said Robbie.

“Well, I mean, it’s an orphanage. You can’t say no to that.” said James.

“True,” said Robbie. “Shouldn’t you be with them, then?”

James looked slightly horrified at the suggestion. “God, no,” he said. “Friday night is Campfire Night. There’s only so many times one can listen to all seventy-five verses of _Kumbaya_ sung in seventeen keys simultaneously before one’s eardrums start to hemorrhage. The roasted marshmallows do not even come close to adequate compensation.”

“Ah,” said Lewis grinning at the colourful description. “Taking a breather, then?”

“Hiding out,” James agreed.

“So what’s there to do in Prishtina on a Friday night?”

“I don’t really know the city that well,” James admitted. “I’m usually - well, I’m usually sitting around the aforementioned campfire, trying not to gnaw my own hand off. I suspect it’s mostly trendy restaurants and glitzy nightclubs.”

“Not really my scene,” Robbie admitted.

“No. Nor mine,” said James.

 

The conversation paused and Robbie realised he was staring at James. James was staring at him too.

“I have a room upstairs,” said James carefully, his eyes locked onto Robbie’s own.

“Yeah?” said Robbie, scarcely breathing.

“If you’d like,” said James.

“Yes,” said Robbie.

Robbie felt as if he was about to jump out of his own skin during the short journey in the tiny lift to James’s floor. He had to fight to keep his hands by his sides, and didn’t dare look at James for the slow seconds while they ascended the building.

Once James had shut his door behind them they fell on each other.

“God, I’ve wanted you for so long,” said James hungrily as his hands frantically undid Robbie’s shirt.

“Me too,” said Robbie. He took James’s face in his hands and kissed him deeply and felt James moan into his mouth. James tasted familiar, even after all this time.

“Robbie,” James whispered. “I wanted you. So much. I’ve never been able to forget you, all this time.” He looked slightly shy again at this admission, his eyes looked hesitant. Robbie had to stop that right away.

“I wanted you too. I’m sorry I kept mucking it up.”

“It wasn’t your fault, at least, not all yours,” James whispered, shaking his head.

“Too much talking,” said Robbie. James chuckled and pulled Robbie’s shirt off and yanked his own t-shirt off.

Once they were naked and lying on the bed, the frenetic pace changed. It was different now from that first time, long ago. James was no longer the shy and hesitant novice, every movement showed deliberateness and confidence. One thing hadn’t changed though, and Robbie was caught up in the intensity and tenderness in James’s eyes.

“Can you fall in love at first sight?” whispered James.

Robbie paused, buried inside James’s warm body, and then thrust slow and deep again, dragging another muffled cry of pleasure out of him.

“Maybe,” he said, kissing James softly. “But it doesn’t matter when. It only matters that it’s now.”

“For me?” said James.

“For both of us.”

James smiled at him in delight.

“My beautiful James,” said Robbie, stroking his head and watching James’s eyelids flutter at every caress.

“Yes. I want to be yours, Robbie.” James shuddered again through another wave of pleasure.

“I want that too,” Robbie gasped as he came inside James. He stroked James through his own orgasm, watching again as the lad’s eyes locked onto his own with that pure look of trust and adoration. He’d missed the deep intimacy of that stare, he could have had it for years if he hadn’t been so stupid.

Robbie traced his fingers over James’s face, touching the tiny lines that were just barely visible around his eyes, the silky hair so much longer than it used to be, the high cheekbones that were more prominent than ever.

“When you get back to Oxford, call me. Soon as your plane hits the ground. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

“No, I mean, yes. No more time-wasting,” said James drowsily.

Robbie drifted off to sleep with the sound of James’s heart beating slow and strong under his head.

He was woken by kisses to the side of his face, and James snuggled against his cheek.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he said.

“I don’t want to go,” said Robbie. “But -”

“I know, it’s your job. And I’m expected back at the orphanage too.”

“It’s not for long, pet.”

“I know.” James sighed heavily and Robbie kissed him on the temple. 

“Just be careful. Please, don’t get hurt. I couldn’t bear it if -” said James.

“I promise,” said Robbie. He could feel unexpected tears prickling in his eyes. It had been a very long time since anyone had said that to him.

James kissed him, again and again. There was nothing sexual about it this time, it was all desperation and hope.

“Hush, pet. It’s going to be alright. Just a few more days,” said Robbie.

“Okay,” said James, “a few more days.”

 

Lewis could not prevent an entourage of his work colleagues from escorting him to the pub once they had put the final nails in the coffin of the drug-trafficking case. By early evening he’d been joined by Jean Innocent, Laura Hobson and DS Gray for pints and a celebratory basket of chips. His phone buzzed inside his pocket and when he retrieved it, his heart skipped as he read the text message.

BACK IN OXFORD NOW

He typed back instantly.

IN THE LAMB AND FLAG

The return text was simple.

BE THERE IN A FEW MINUTES

He was wondering how to casually inform his companions of James’s arrival, or even more to the point, who James was to him. Before he’d managed to get a word out, he saw James appear out of the corner of his eye, sunburnt and magnificent, and looking nothing at all like the perfectly manicured academic he normally was, in his t-shirt and cargo pants.

James lit up when he set eyes on Robbie and swiftly made his way through the crowd to him. He dropped his backpack to the ground and took Robbie’s face in his hands and kissed him gently and then more passionately.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that all day,” he announced, slightly shyly.

“Me too,” said Robbie breathlessly.

“Ahem,” behind them Innocent was clearing her throat. “Robbie, do you think you might have something to tell us?”

“James, this is my boss, Jean Innocent. That’s my friend and resident pathologist, Laura Hobson over there and this is my sergeant, Alex Gray.”

“Don’t mind us,” said Laura. “We love a good floor show. This is the most fun Lewis has given us in years.”

“Um, God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about your having company,” said James, suddenly abashed at his public display.

“Don’t be,” said Laura grinning. “We’re just surprised. Lewis, the crafty old devil, managed to completely omit that he’d fallen in love with someone when he was filling us in on his recent adventures. About bloody time too, I might add.”

“What are you drinking?” said Robbie, avoiding Laura’s broad grin deliberately, not to mention Innocent and Gray mugging at each other with evident amusement.

“Er, gin and tonic, please,” said James.

“You sit, I’ll get them in,” said Robbie.

James looked slightly panicked as Robbie strode off to the bar, and when he returned James had capitulated to Laura’s questioning and was saying, “We’ve known each other for ten years actually, but, well. The timing was never right.”

“Until now,” said Robbie, with a glare at Laura. She returned the glare with an utterly unrepentant, mischievous wink.

James took the drink from Robbie’s hand gratefully and slugged back half of it before he remembered himself and set the drink down again.

Laura patted his hand sympathetically and James looked at her expectantly. “Really,” she said, “don’t mind us at all. We’re normally quite well-behaved. We just enjoy giving Lewis a hard time, especially as he managed to pull the wool over our eyes so effectively today. I mean, you turn your back for five minutes…”

James smiled at her in relief and reached for Robbie’s hand under the table.

Somewhere between the next basket of chips and his third gin and tonic, James yawned and then looked mortified. Robbie saw his opportunity for an exit from the too-merry party and patted his hand.

“Come along, let’s get you home. Must be the middle of the night in Prishtina.” 

James smiled gratefully and faced the barrage of farewells politely.

“You’ve never seen my place,” said Robbie once they were outside.

“You’ve never seen mine,” said James, “Not that you’d want to. It’s not much. I use it to sleep, mostly. I spend all my time at the college.”

“Well, that’s going to change,” said Robbie. 

He wondered if he’d ever get used to the expression on James’s face; the fondness as his eyes flitted from Robbie’s eyes to his mouth and back up again, that shy smile that curved into desire when Robbie smiled back. No-one had looked at him like that in years. It was a heady feeling, and became even more so when the smile on James’s mouth gentled and his eyes grew soft, and he traced Robbie’s face with such unutterable tenderness.

“Can you fall in love at first sight?” James had said.

Robbie knew now that it hadn’t really been a question. James had been telling him since the very first time, and Robbie had never truly understood until now. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” said Robbie taking James’s hand from his face and kissing his palm, “to see what was right in front of me.”

James chuckled and his eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “When doesn’t matter, Robbie, it only matters that it’s now.”


	7. 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What lies tangled

Hathaway struggled with his seatbelt clasp and vaulted from the driver’s seat as soon as he was free. He sprinted for the doors of the A&E and burst through them before he had given any thought to what he must look like.

He tried to catch his breath as he got his bearings, staring wildly around him. Then he marched over to the reception desk and tried to wait patiently while the woman behind the desk finished with the person in front of him.

“Yes?” she said eventually.

“Robbie Lewis,” he said. “I’m looking for Robbie Lewis. I think he’s here.”

“You think he’s here?” her eyebrows furrowed and she looked at him suspiciously.

“I got a text from him, and now he’s not answering his phone, apparently there was a bomb?” he answered, fumbling in his breast pocket for his phone. He retrieved it and scrolled through to the text.

IN THE JR. NOT TO WORRY. IT WAS ONLY A SMALL BOMB.

James felt a tremor run through him as he read the words again. He showed it to her and she squinted at it myopically before looking at him even more suspiciously.

“He’s a policeman,” he tried to explain again. 

She nodded and typed into her computer.

“Are you immediate family?” she said at last.

“No. I mean,” James stopped and huffed quietly, more out of tension than frustration, “I’m his partner. Boyfriend.”

She looked sympathetic, but shook her head.

“Look, I’m sorry, sir” she said. “You have to be family. If you want to wait, he’ll either be discharged or admitted properly, and then you can visit during normal visiting hours.”

“Please,” he said, trying to control the shaking in his voice, “I’m the only person he has here.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “there’s nothing I can do about it. You’ll have to wait. Next please.”

“Can you at least tell me how he is?” James pleaded.

“Next, please,” she said, ignoring him rather pointedly.

James stood stunned for a moment and then wondered if he could get into the A&E ward just to see if he could spot Robbie somehow. He wandered towards the double doors but was stopped by an orderly.

“You can’t go in there, mate.”

“I’m looking for Robbie Lewis. He’s a policeman, he’s been injured. Please, can you tell me anything? What’s happened to him?”

Something of his inner terror must have shown in his face because the orderly paused and looked at him kindly.

“You family?”

“I’m all he has in Oxford. But no, we’re not family. I’m his boyfriend.”

“Ah, sorry. You can’t go in then. Family only. Look, why don’t you take a seat. I’ll see if I can find something out for you.”

James nodded and stepped backwards, feeling his way like a drunk. 

“Thanks,” he said unsteadily. 

He made his way to the bank of hard-backed seats and folded himself into one of them. He tried to sit patiently, but he kept staring at Robbie’s message until the screen on his phone went dark. Then he’d touch the screen to illuminate it again. What did it mean? How badly had Robbie been hurt? As the minutes crawled by he could feel panic slowly rising in his stomach. Robbie could be dying, alone, just out of reach in the next room. He could feel tears threatening to spill from his eyes and he tried to blink them back.

“James?” There was no mistaking Robbie’s voice, and James raised his head swiftly. Robbie was standing in the middle of the room, looking slightly rumpled with his coat bundled up in his arms, but otherwise intact.

“What are you doing here, love?” said Robbie.

James shot up from his chair and stared stupefied at Robbie before rushing to fold him into his arms.

“Oh my God, you’re alright! You - you are alright, aren’t you?” James gasped.

“I’m fine. Bit of a scratch, is all,” said Robbie gesturing to a small cut on his forehead that had been sutured closed.

“The bomb hit you?” said James in horror.

“What? No. I got this tackling a suspect to the ground. Luckily I got a tough head, me,” said Robbie.

“But you said…” James ran out of words.

“I said not to worry,” said Robbie. “I was barely touched. Nothing to do with the bomb at all. I only mentioned that in case you’d heard about it on the radio. What did you come down here for?”

“You - are you - oh my God!” James shook his head and flung his arms up in the air, narrowly missing passersby on either side of him. “Robert Lewis, what on earth did you think I would think? ‘Only a small bomb’? Are you insane?”

“What? Why?” said Robbie.

“I thought you were _dying_!” said James trying to contain himself.

“But I’m fine,” Robbie protested.

“Yes, I can see that now. Did you consider what I would think when I got your text message and then I couldn’t get hold of you on your phone?”

Robbie shrugged and then winced. 

“Sorry, pet. Poor choice of words.”

“Understatement of the bloody century,” James muttered. “Christ. I thought you were - I thought I’d never see you again.”

Robbie’s expression grew sheepish and he took James’s hands that were now twisting around his phone.

“I’m fine. Come on lad, let’s go home.”

James wasn’t going to settle, that much was clear once they reached home and Robbie let himself sink into the couch wearily. He was a little more shattered than he had let on to James; not from the injury, but from the stress of the day. Throwing himself on top of murderers took a little bit more out of him these days than it used to. James was hovering and thrust a glass of water under his nose. 

“Here, take those tablets they gave you.”

Robbie grimaced, but took the glass obediently and swallowed the analgesics that the doctor had suggested he take. Silence stretched between them and Robbie suddenly hauled himself up, unable to take the tension any longer.

“I’m going to take a shower. Get the hospital off me.”

He trudged to the bathroom and pulled off his clothes, discarding them on the ground where they fell. Then he turned on the shower and stood under the stream for a minute appreciating the slight burn of the heat pelting down on his skin, and the roar of the water that blanked out all the thoughts in his head. Minutes later the shower door slid aside and James got in behind him. Robbie didn’t protest as hands took the washcloth from his own and began to gently wash his body for him. James was thorough, as if he was not going to believe that Robbie was uninjured until he had examined every inch of his body himself. Exhaustion was creeping through him and he surrendered himself to James’s ministrations. Shampoo was massaged through his hair and then rinsed out, then something else was worked into his scalp. He reckoned it must be James’s conditioner. Then strong arms were placed around him and James held him tight as they stood under the beating water together, not talking, just breathing. 

Then the water ceased and James led him out of the shower.

“Right, bed for you,” was all James said before enveloping Robbie in a soft towel, drying him off before he could protest or try to do it for himself. 

Robbie fell gratefully into his bed, and registered only slight surprise when James climbed in next to him and curled around him, instead of heading off to read a book as the early hour might have warranted. 

Robbie woke in the early hours of the morning alone in their bed. He rolled onto his back and cracked his eyes open trying to judge the hour from the light levels filtering through the blinds at the windows. Slowly the events of yesterday came back to him. All in all, it could have gone better, he reckoned. He wondered whether James was angry with him. He hadn’t seemed to be last night, although it was sometimes hard to judge what was going on in that head of his.

“Oh, you’re awake,” James entered the room and seated himself on the bed holding out a frosty glass of something. “Here. It’s apple juice.”

Robbie raised himself and downed the glass thirstily, appreciating the refreshing cold and the tart sweetness.

“You must be starving,” James continued. “You last ate at breakfast yesterday.”

“Nope, I had a sandwich at lunchtime.”

“I don’t think that sandwiches from that grotty cornershop near the station actually count as food,” James countered.

“Oh give over,” said Robbie wearily.

James took the empty glass back off Robbie and placed it on the bedside table, and then curled around Robbie again, kissing him on his temple.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he said.

“I’m alright,” said Robbie.

James looked at him carefully.

“Honest love, I’m fine. Got a good night’s sleep. I’m right as rain.”

“Okay,” said James, sounding unconvinced.

“I am,” said Robbie. “I wasn’t badly hurt, James. I know I gave you a fright yesterday, and I’m sorry for that. Didn’t mean to.”

James exhaled slowly and snuggled into Robbie’s side.

“I know,” he said quietly, “and I’m glad it wasn’t anything bad. Well, anything worse than an uncooperative suspect.” He kissed Robbie again. But he wasn’t finished, and Robbie’s mouth twitched into a private smile as James started up again. His James could be relied on to have a long-form opinion on everything.

“The worst bit was sitting at the hospital, and no-one would let me see you or tell me anything. I wasn’t family, so I just had to sit there and hope. I kept thinking what if you were dying and I’d - I’d - I wouldn’t be there with you, and I’d never see you again.”

“Oh, pet,” Robbie turned and pulled James into his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise my stupid message would worry you so much.”

James sniffed wetly into his neck. “They kept saying, ‘Sorry sir, family only’”.

“I s’pose we’ll just have to get married then,” said Robbie.

There was silence in the room for a moment and then James started to tremble and shake.

“James?” Robbie sat up in alarm so that he could see his face. “Are you okay, lad?”

James’s face was contorted, eyes screwed shut and his entire body shook with laughter.

“Wha-?” said Robbie.

But James was incapable of speaking. Tears of laughter leaked out of the corners of his eyes and his entire body was convulsed with silent giggles. Then he subsided and his eyelids popped open and he wiped his eyes with a wide grin on his face.

“What?” said Robbie again.

James launched himself at Robbie and kissed him and then he said, “Only you could follow up ‘It was only a small bomb’ with a marriage proposal that went, and I quote, ‘I s’pose we’ll just have to get married then’.”

“Oh,” said Robbie, feeling embarrassed again.

“You romantic, smooth-talking charmer, you,” said James with a cat-like purr. Then he crawled on top of Robbie and took his face in both his hands. “Just so we are quite clear, and there is no mistaking, the answer is yes. I intend to marry the living daylights out of you.”

“Um,” said Robbie.

 

Robbie made it into work on time, more or less, with a grin on his face and a spring in his heels; but as the morning wore on he began to feel uncomfortable about James. The lad had been loving and affectionate, and yet Robbie felt ashamed about the fact that James had to make do with a man who’d forgotten how to do romance.

“Alex?”

“Sir?” said Sergeant Gray.

“How did you propose to your wife?” said Robbie.

Gray looked a little nonplussed at the question, but answered readily enough.

“I took her out to dinner, and then brought out the ring with a special bottle of champagne before dessert.”

Robbie nodded glumly. This was as he’d expected. People did not accidentally propose in bed as a ruminative aside before they’d even brushed their teeth in the morning.

“Sir,” said Gray, “are you planning a proposal of your own?”

Robbie sighed and hung his head in his hands.

“I may have already gone and done it,” he said with a groan.

“Congratulations, sir!” Gray beamed.

“Sergeant, do you have to be so darn cheerful about everything?” said Robbie.

“Did he not say yes?” Gray suddenly looked mortified.

“He said yes,” said Robbie.

“Then -?” Gray was confused.

“I didn’t think, did I? I just blurted it out this morning. Just said off-hand we should get married.”

“Ai!” said Gray sympathetically, then he brightened up and added, “but he did say yes.”

“It means it’s too late for a do-over.”

“It means that he loves you.”

Gray was an irrepressible optimist. Robbie had given up on ever curing him of the habit.

 

“Can you buy roses for a man? I mean, do they like them?” Robbie asked Laura.

Her eyebrows shot up as she sipped on the coffee Robbie had brought her as a goodwill offering.

“I’m fascinated as to why you’re asking _me_ this,” she replied a little testily. “Unless it’s somehow escaped your attention in the two decades we’ve known each other, I’m a woman, i.e. of the female persuasion.”

“I may have accidentally proposed to James,” he said a tad self-consciously.

Her mouth quirked and then she giggled.

“May have? How does one accidentally propose to someone?” she asked. “No wait, don’t tell me. I think I prefer to use my own imagination for this one.”

Robbie scowled at her.

“Did he say yes?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied.

She beamed at him and smacked him on the shoulder. “Congratulations! I mean, I’m assuming you’re not regretting proposing to him? You’re not, are you?”

“No,” said Robbie. “Only that the lad deserved better than a half-asleep comment as a proposal.”

“Oh dear,” said Laura, “do you think he’s upset?”

“No. I mean, he didn’t seem to be.”

“Did he say anything about it?”

“He laughed until he was in stitches,” Robbie admitted in an embarrassed tone, “and then he said yes and called me a romantic smooth-talking charmer.”

“I think that last bit may have been sarcasm,” said Laura thoughtfully.

“Oh, you think?” said Robbie acidly.

Laura rested her chin on her palm and gave him a look.

“Okay, here’s a thought experiment for you. You’ve probably never received nor wanted flowers in your life. Correct?”

Robbie shrugged and nodded.

“But if James gave you some? You wouldn’t be disappointed or offended, would you?”

Robbie pictured James standing in front of him with that shy grin on his face and a fist full of flowers. Maybe wearing that pink shirt. He could feel his face heating up.

“I take your point,” he said.

“Good,” said Laura. “I expect to be kept updated on the situation, of course.”

“Updated on what? James has already said yes,” said Robbie.

“Wedding dresses, that sort of thing,” she replied airily.

“Very funny,” said Robbie scowling slightly.

“I’m glad for you,” she added more gently, “and I can see how happy he makes you. Much happier than what’s-her-face, Doctor Sleep Institute.”

“Doctor Jekyll. Kate,” Robbie corrected.

“Yes. Her. Poor woman. What a name to be saddled with.” 

“In a way, I think it was because of James that it never worked out between her and me,” said Robbie. “I could never recapture the feelings with her that I’d had for him. At the time I told myself that it wasn’t important. Kate was lovely, and we were comfortable together. But in the end it felt like we were settling for something second-best.”

“You never did tell me how you and James first met,” said Laura.

“And I’m not going to either,” he replied.

Laura looked slightly affronted and curious, but she merely shrugged at his evasiveness.

“Fine,” she said. “Don’t tell me. I’ll get it out of one of you one day.”

“I wouldn’t bank on that,” he said grinning.

 

Robbie wandered up and down High Street and surrounds, peering in at windows of jewellers until he’d convinced himself to walk into one. His first request for men’s rings yielded a tray of the most garish things he’d ever seen, with brightly-coloured stones set in shining yellow gold. He snorted, imagining James’s face if confronted with one of these. His expression must have told the attendant something of his true feelings because the next tray had more subdued offerings in platinum and white-gold. He hesitated for a while over one with a single diamond set discreetly on the inside of the band, and then decided that the diamond’s sole purpose was to add to the price of the ring. In the end he chose a couple of brushed platinum bands, plain but elegant. James would like that. The shop attendant had been eying him suspiciously until his credit card appeared, at which point she was all smiles.

The flower shop was easier seeing as he didn’t have to be explicit about who he was buying roses for.

He returned to his car and sat in thought for a while until the parking attendant started giving him dirty looks. Robbie rolled his eyes and started his car. He was nervous, there was no point in denying it to himself. He shook his head, laughing ruefully. Here he was, a middle-aged man; and he was as terrified as a teenager at the prospect of giving his lover, who was technically already his fiancé, who’d already said yes, a ring. But maybe the previous lack of terror had been his problem in the first place, and his sense of comfort had inadvertently led to his inglorious proposal the other morning. 

Having James with him these last two years had made him feel like he already had everything. Wooing James hadn’t even entered his head.

The night James had returned from Kosovo, they’d slept in Robbie’s bed wrapped around each other as if they were both afraid they would wake to find the other gone, and after that James had never really gone home. Clothes had appeared first in Robbie’s wardrobe and chest of drawers and a toothbrush joined his own in the glass in the bathroom, plus a supply of contact lenses and a set of toiletries that were rather fancier than the ones Robbie had ever used. Then the guitar had appeared one evening, and shortly thereafter there were stacks of sheet music on the shelf under the TV, and small piles of books and student’s papers for marking on the coffee table. Neither of them had ever felt the need to talk about it, or to put a name on it. The spare bedroom became the library, Robbie’s bed became their bed.

James cooked on weeknights as he was the one with more predictable work hours. Robbie took weekends if he was free. James joined Robbie in the pub when he was out having a pint with Alex and Laura. Robbie attended the mercifully rare formal events at the College as James’s plus one, and smiled dangerously at any man of the cloth who made the mistake of frowning disapprovingly in James’s direction. At night they made love or curled into each other, nuzzling affectionately until they fell asleep. Robbie woke every morning to James smiling at him with that same intense look of adoration he’d seen on his face all those years ago. It was as close to perfect as Robbie could imagine.

He could remember his days of courting Val, of course. He’d never tried to compare the life he was living now with the life he’d made with her; they were too different, the two loves of his life. But he could remember the nervous excitement of taking her out to a dance and hoping she’d enjoyed herself. He could remember buying her flowers and a box of chocolates because he thought she might like them. He could remember what it had been like, that first time he’d kissed her, feeling clumsy and lumbering next to her petite form and yet hoping that she felt the same rush he had. He could remember the heady thrill of joy when she’d said she liked him too. It had been a long, butterfly-inducing journey of mutual discovery.

Nothing like that had ever happened with James. It had been all different. Good different, mind; but nothing like with Val. 

Instead, they’d both wanted each other from the moment James had first shyly touched his face and kissed his mouth standing in his tiny flat’s doorway all those years ago. It had been simple. Only the getting together bit had proved difficult.

And now it had brought him here, sitting in his car in his own driveway, suddenly having to summon up the nerve to walk through his own front door to face the man he’d been living with for nearly two years.

“Melodrama,” he announced to himself, and then shook his head and opened his door and got out.

Delicious smells of spices and meat greeted him as he walked through the door. James had evidently been cooking one of his curry-from-scratch dishes again. The man himself was ensconced on the couch, reading through a paper, and flicked his eyes up and gave Robbie a distracted “Hey,” before returning his attention to to the screeds in front of him.

Robbie took a deep breath and seated himself next to James on the couch, clutching the roses a little too tightly.

“Robbie?” James’s eyes fell on the flowers and he looked up at Robbie smiling softly. “For me?”

“Aye,” said Robbie handing them to him. James took them looking surprised but delighted. Robbie slipped to his knees and held out the rings in his palm. Words suddenly deserted him, but from the expression on James’s face, he didn’t need them. James’s mouth fell open at the sight of them and then looked up at Robbie, with that smile of wonderment and adoration that Robbie loved so much.

“Robbie,” he whispered, pulling him back onto the couch and then kissing him, “I love you so much.”

“I wanted to make up for the other morning,” said Robbie.

James gave a little huff of fond amusement.

“You didn’t need to make up for anything, Robbie. But it means everything that you’d do this, I never expected -” then he broke off, too emotional for speech and buried his face in Robbie’s neck.

“I needed to get this one right, lad” said Robbie.

“I don’t think you understand,” said James, “how perfect you’ve always been.”

“I’m far from perfect, James.”

James shifted slightly and leaned against Robbie.

“You don’t realise,” James said softly, “what it was like for me that first time. You know, when we met.”

Robbie nodded silently, not wanting to interrupt James.

“I’d never done that before. I mean, done anything before. I knew it was - not the best way to go about things, but I didn’t want to be a virgin anymore. You were handsome and you seemed like a nice man. Funny too,” he said, smiling slightly at the memory.

“So I thought maybe it would be okay with you. But -” here he sighed heavily, “you were so gentle and caring with me, as if you thought my pleasure and comfort were more important than your own. And then you held me afterwards, when I’d thought you might leave. Instead you talked to me and you kissed me for hours. You turned something that could have been awful into something that was beautiful.”

James smiled again and laughed softly. “I fell completely in love with you.” He looked up at Robbie, “utterly and irretrievably in love with you. Even though I knew you were leaving and it was impossible.”

Robbie’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“To have you now all these years later, it’s been everything to me.”

Robbie nodded. “Me too.”

“I didn’t need rings and roses, because I already have everything. But the fact that you would give me them anyway only confirms how beautiful you really are, and why I love you so much.”

Things were getting as mushy and teary-eyed as Robbie had ever experienced, but for once in his life he didn’t mind.

“Laura was trying to figure out how we met the other day,” he said _a propos_ of nothing. “Now she’s definitely never finding out.”

“Too lurid?” said James.

“Too private,” said Robbie.

“The policeman and the theologian,” said James.

“Who'da thunk?” said Robbie.

“Well, technically the odds were one to one,” said James, “on account of it happening.”

Robbie had to kiss him on the cheek for that. “I’d have thought,” he said, “that a graduate of Cambridge _and_ Oxford, no less, would recognise a rhetorical question when he saw one.”

“Mm,” said James, settling his head against Robbie’s shoulder again, “perhaps the aforementioned graduate is too happy to contain himself.”

“Now there’s a thought,” said Robbie. Then he laughed. “One to one, eh.”


End file.
